Two Skulls are Better than One (Esp when they have names)
by EmeraldLily99
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has a new flatmate, & it happens to be his estranged ward, Shruthi. Follow the two as they find themselves unknowingly part of a scheme, by a pregnant & hormonal Mary Watson, to get them to fall in love! And Mary's even gotten John involved in her crazy scheme! But is it crazy, or will they find that Sherlock and Shruthi are actually made for each other? Sherlock/OC


Wow, so apparently I've moved on to writing _Sherlock_ fanfiction. Yikes, my obsessions have gotten really out of hand...Oh well! Once again, please don't flame, as this is my third fanfiction as well as my first time writing for _Sherlock_ and I'm really sensitive to criticism. If you don't like it, just move on, knowing that you have my apologies for wasting your time. And, if you do like it, please feel free to review! (I know most of you aren't going to do it, but I think it's a fanfic rule that I ask for reviews...)

Disclaimer:I own nothing, except for my OC. Sherlock Holmes is NOT tied up in my attic. Though if he was... Him or Spock...

BTW, "M'ster" is pronounced kinda like "em-stur". You'll see what I mean... The point is to mess with Sherlock, which I love doing.

* * *

John Watson sighed as he stood outside the room door to his former flat, 221B Baker Street. His best friend and former flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, aka the world's only consulting detective and also the world's most infuriating man, had texted him just ten minutes ago, saying that it was "urgent" and "a matter of life and death." Now, knowing Sherlock, it could be that either he needed someone to get something from out of his pocket, or he was about to be "kidnapped" by world-class assassins. John opened the flat with his copy of the keys, wondering which situation Sherlock had found himself in. And then he walked straight in on Sherlock Holmes bent over the limp, half-naked figure of a teenage girl.

"Sherlock!" John cried out, running over to the girl as he pushed the detective out of the way. Sherlock straightened and stood to the side, his face portraying boredom and indifference as John took the girl's pulse. In his normal baritone, he replied offhandedly,

"She's alright John. Don't be so dramatic, I didn't kill her, I simply slipped something into her tea as an experiment. Suffice to say the results are proving satisfactory. Although the wait is sooooo tedious." He whined, clearly unconcerned with the girl who lay unconscious on his couch. John, content to find that the girl had a pulse, albeit an erratic one, straightened up and gave his best friend a pointed look.

"And pray tell why you drugged her? Also, who is she even?! And why did you call me?" Sherlock, annoyed by all the questions, sighed impatiently and plopped down unceremoniously in the vacant chair, his head rolling back so he was staring at the ceiling. John stood there, waiting for Sherlock's explanation, and checking on the condition of the young girl of the corner of his eye.

And speaking of that, why DID Sherlock have her in the flat? Looking at the girl, whose curly dark brown hair and barely-brown skin alluded to her mixed parentage and obvious Indian ancestors, John presumed that the girl couldn't be much older than 21, if she was even 21. Honestly, he was having a hard time believing the girl was even legal, and hoping the entire time that she was. Else, he feared how a conversation about an underage girl passed out, half-naked mind you (since the girl had on pants but wore only a sport bra), in Sherlock's flat would go with the man in question. John didn't want to think his friend might be into underage girls, and so for once he hoped Sherlock was being his usual eccentric and slightly asexual self.

"It's not like that. She's actually my ward. I was thinking you and Mary could take her in. You know, as a babysitter or something." Sherlock spoke so offhandedly, as if what he was saying wasn't important, and all John could do was stand there in shock and look back and forth from Sherlock to the girl, apparently his WARD, passed out on the couch. His ward? Why had Sherlock never mentioned her before? And just how long had she been his ward?!

"Oh, and she's not underage. She's 26. It's more obvious when she's awake, you'll see." Sherlock remarked, as if it were obvious and insignificant. Once again, John felt shock, as he looked at, really looked at, the young girl, err, woman that is, lying on the couch. Surveying her, John noted that, on closer look, while she did have a more youthful face, at least when sleeping, her small body was filled out in a way only a woman's could be filled out. John averted his eyes suddenly, feeling that he had no right to observe the young woman as she lay there, unconscious and unsuspecting.

"I expect you'd like an explanation." Sherlock's voice called John's attention, and the doctor shook his head.

"Yeah. It's not every day I find out YOU are responsible for someone else. Why and how exactly did your parents even allow that?!" John asked, and another thought occurred to him suddenly. "And what is her name?" Sherlock looked at the unconscious girl disinterestedly, and shrugged.

"I don't know, I think it's something with an 's'. You'll have to ask her when she wakes up. She showed up here about an hour ago and all she did was talk and talk, it was giving me a headache, so I decided to make something out her intrusion and slipped an experimental drug in some tea when she was changing. I called her out, gave it to her, she passed out, and then I called you. Now, would you please take her off my hands? God, I've wasted so much time already just explaining things to you!" He flung his hands in that twitchy way when he was thinking or annoyed, and John just stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, are you on a case? No?" He remarked sarcastically when the detective shook his head. "Then YOU take care of her! After all, she's YOUR ward, which I still don't understand because, contrary to your belief, you haven't explained anything. For gods' sake Sherlock, you don't even know her name! Now, until you offer me a proper explanation, I'm not leaving here. Oh, and I'm not taking her with me either. So, if you may?" He gestured to the woman, and Sherlock groaned loudly, like a child who was upset because he hadn't gotten what he wanted. Well, that was Sherlock Holmes in a nutshell.

"Fine, I'll tell you." Sherlock whined, and John had to suppress and urge to roll his eyes at how childish the detective could be. "Her parents were friends of my parents, and they died in a car accident or something when she was 13. I don't know the details, it was pretty standard stuff so I wasn't really interested. Anyways, I was in Uni, Mycroft was already with British Intelligence, and as an obviously convoluted and ridiculous exercise in responsibility our mum decided to make us the girl's legal guardians. Oh, guardians! That's it!" He sat upright in his seat, his face inspired as an idea dawned on him. He had his usual crazy and excited look on his face. "Don't you see John?! She's also under Mycroft's protection! She's his responsibility! After all, he is the one who had her sent away." Sherlock was excited the more and more he turned the idea over in his mind. Sherlock made his way to the door, but John was already there, blocking the exit. The detective glared.

"John, move from the door. I have a brilliant idea and I'm not going to let you stand in the way of it." John gave him a defiant look and spoke calmly but resolutely.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to let you do this. You can't just up and throw your ward away the moment she becomes an inconvenience. She's a person Sherlock, a living, breathing person, and you can't treat her so crudely." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John quickly interjected. "Before you say anything, let me just say that this girl would do better to live here with you rather than with your brother. Though I'd prefer her not to associate with you at all. Which makes me wonder. Why'd she only now turn up, and why'd she come to see you? Why not just go see your parents?" John waited, his eyebrow quirked. Sherlock sighed dramatically to convey his annoyance and exasperation, but John ignored him and simply waited for the explanation. He got it soon enough.

"When Mycroft and I got appointed as her 'guardians' it became obvious that neither one of us was interested in wasting time on her, nor did we seem fit to. So, Mycroft arranged for her to be schooled overseas, though I assume he had surveillance on her the entire time." John's eyes widened.

"Wait, so this is her first time in London in years?" No wonder she showed up here, John thought to himself. The poor girl had probably assumed, unknowingly and incorrectly of course, that her guardians would be delighted to see her. She clearly doesn't know or remember Sherlock and Mycroft, John thought wryly. Sherlock, seeing the look of pity on John's face directed at the girl on the couch, deduced his friend's thoughts and interjected quickly to clear things up.

"Oh, don't feel so sorry for her, John. She's not THAT stupid, from what little I gathered of her ceaseless ramblings this morning. She showed up here proposing to be my new flatmate, and seemed to be under no delusions where my, as she put it, 'shortcomings', are concerned." As his mind processed the news that someone else was willing to live with Sherlock in spite of knowing he wasn't the best flatmate (an understatement), John had a question.

"Wait, so if she's willing to tolerate you AND pay her part, what is the problem?" Sherlock made a sound of disgust, but before he could answer, another voice, feminine and matter-of-factly, piped in. The two men looked to see that the young woman had awoken, and that she was currently seated upright on the sofa, apparently unperturbed by the fact that she was in the presence of two grown men with little more than a sports bra to cover her upper half, and that one of said men had drugged her not too long ago. It made John wonder if there was anything wrong with her, given her lack of reaction to the scene, or if she was nervous and simply well-adept at not showing it. John listened for her response and the first words he would hear her speak.

"It's because he's scared to have a female roommate. M'ster Holmes, for the last time, I don't bite, I promise. Unless, of course, you'd prefer if I did." Her accent was American but refined, her voice teasing and filled with humour, and John couldn't help but laugh inwardly as he heard her reply. The words would've sounded inappropriate if not for the mock seriousness with which she spoke them, as well as the marked way she spoke them. And John had seen the mischievous glint in her eye and her Cheshire cat smile when she'd turned to Sherlock and said the second part, and he'd seen as Sherlock had glowered, his lips slightly pouty. And then it occurred to him how she'd referred to the detective and, confused, he asked the young woman,

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but did you just call him 'master'? Or was it 'mister'?" Her gaze turned to his, and he was startled as her vivid and vibrant hazel eyes met his eyes with both confidence and amusement. She cocked her head slightly and put her hand under her chin, her lips twisting at the ends in a theatrical show of contemplation. Before she could answer, however, Sherlock answered the question, still glowering and sounding like a petulant puppy.

"She won't tell you, John. She's always referred to me as such, and never once has anyone been able to tell which she was calling me." _Including me_. The words were unspoken but implied, and John grinned as it occurred to him that of course Sherlock would be upset that he couldn't figure something out, even something as trivial as whether the girl called him "master" or "mister". I wonder what else he doesn't like about her, John thought to himself as he realized that he was already beginning to like her. In the little time he'd known her, it seemed the girl pushed the detective's buttons and challenged him in ways that were both amusing and refreshing. The girl's voice broke John out of his musings.

"Aww, so you do remember something! And no fair, M'ster Holmes! I could've been about to tell him?" At Sherlock's knowing look she relented. "Okay, fine, I wasn't. But still! You could've let me have my fun!" The girl had gotten up and marched over to the detective, her arms folded and chin raised defiantly as she'd exclaimed with a mock tone of indignation. John could see Sherlock's confusion, the man clearly still not too familiar with when someone was teasing or joking, and he smiled lightly. And then the girl turned and walked towards John, and as she moved away from the towering detective John realized she was small, probably 5'4", and yet she hadn't hesitated to look Sherlock straight in the eyes. She reached him, smiled widely, and held out her hand.

"Sorry about that. Hi, my name is Shruthi." At this point she turned to look at Sherlock and said, "You hear that, M'ster Holmes? THAT'S my name. 'Sha-roo-thee.' So you were right when you said it was 'something with an s'." She spoke to the detective assertively, as if she were scolding him not for drugging her, but for not remembering her name. Sherlock appeared taken aback, probably surprised that she had heard his and John's conversation, but she dismissed him and turned back to John, her smile returning. "For the record, it's actually pronounced 'shroo-thee', but I tell people 'sha-roo-thee' because it makes it easier for them to arrive at 'shroo-thee' later on. But enough about me and my name. I take it you're Mr. John Watson, M'ster Holmes' partner in crime fighting. Nice to meet you."

John, not knowing what to make of this young woman due to her rather blunt personality but deciding that she seemed harmless, shrugged mentally before he clasped her hand in his own and shook. When he pulled his hand back from the handshake, he gave a cautious smile and spoke.

"It's nice to meet you. And by the way Shruthi, call me John. Please." At this Shruthi smiled even wider, her teeth pearly white and flawless.

"Oh. Okay, thank you…John," she tested the name out on her tongue, not expecting them to be on first-name terms already, as if they were friends. Hmm. Her and John. Friends. She liked that idea, especially since at the moment the only people she knew in London were Sherlock and Mycroft, and she hadn't seen Sherlock in years. "I look forward to seeing you around, and I hope we can establish a friendship sometime in the near future. Oh, and by the way, I love your blog." Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she heard Sherlock's groan in the background, and she leaned and whispered deviously,

"I think I'm going to enjoy living with him. He's fun to mess with." John grinned at that.

"Well, I look forward to seeing that happen. Although, I feel I should warn you to be careful living here. And watch out for his experiments!" John felt the need to caution the woman and let her know what she was getting into, even though Sherlock had stated that she knew exactly what she was getting into. And it appeared she did know, since she replied in a light and offhanded tone,

"Oh, I know what to expect. I can handle him, I just wonder if he can handle me." And then she'd smirked amusedly. John was wondering what she meant by that, before he dismissed it from his mind and spoke louder, in a clear voice, "Well Sherlock, since everything here seems to be in order, I'll be going now." Then, turning his attention back to Shruthi, he said,

"Nice to meet, Shruthi, and I look forward to seeing you in the future." He heard her reply likewise with a smile in her voice. Then he walked out the door and down the stairs, mind reeling from the entire meeting and intent on sharing the news of Sherlock's baffling ward and flatmate with his wonderful and pregnant wife, Mary. After all, he had a feeling all their lives were going to change because of the new presence at Baker Street, most of all Sherlock's.

* * *

"You can't possibly be thinking of staying here. And I don't care what John says." Sherlock's voice broke the silence when Shruthi closed the door to the flat. Turning to face him, she looked at him, her eyebrow raised.

"And why not? M'ster Holmes, the way I see it I'm in a need of a flat and you're in need of a flatmate, and I'm willing to pay my part. So where's the problem? And if it's about me being female, well, can't say I'm going to do anything about that, since I happen to like my gender. Besides, didn't you always say, 'Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting.' Well, M'ster Holmes, based on that logic, I should be able to live here and presumably lead a life completely independent from yours." At the last two sentences Sherlock looked at her, suddenly remembering. He groaned,

"Right! The eidetic memory! How could I forget?!" Shruthi laughed and replied,

"Maybe because you don't have one? Aw, don't look so upset, M'ster Holmes. I'm pretty sure you just deleted that information because it seemed pointless. Am I not right?" She smiled smugly at him, knowing that she was absolutely correct and that it annoyed him to know that she was correct. When he didn't reply, she continued. "I, on the other hand, remember everything about you. And your brother, too. Who might I add was the one who informed me to come here?" She smiled cheekily at him, obviously pleased with herself, and Sherlock glowered. She continued on. "You know, you two really helped make my childhood an interesting one. Oh, I have a question. Do you still have the skull?" She spoke casually, as if everything to do with the Holmes brothers was completely normal, not to mention as if remembering everything since childhood was also considered normal.

Sherlock's head snapped in her direction at the question, and he studied her once again with the hope of being able to deduce any more than what he had this morning. Nope, nothing. Only a job in computers and, apparently, an ability to completely tolerate both him and his brother. How odd.

"It's no use, Sherlock. You're not going to get anything from her." Mycroft's voice broke through his scrutinizing as Sherlock looked up to see his brother in the doorway of his flat. He scowled, and Mycroft walked in, followed by Shruthi after she closed the door. He sat down in the chair and crossed his legs, regarding Sherlock.

"Oh, please, have a seat Mycroft, why don't you." Sherlock said exasperatedly.

"No need to be snarky, Sherlock. I'm just here to inform you that Shruthi WILL be staying here. Especially since I obviously can't be held responsible for her."

"Umm, hello? I'm right here, you know. So please don't talk as if I'm not here and like I'm a football to be tossed between the two of you." The woman in question chimed. Sherlock groaned, and Shruthi glared at him.

"As I was saying," Mycroft continued, ignoring the two, "She will be staying here. Especially since the British government," and at this Sherlock coughed "you" and Mycroft shot him a look, "feels that her skills require her…protection."

"By 'protection' I assume he means 'supervision,' since it's fairly obvious that you're a hacker." The statement was aimed at Shruthi, but Mycroft answered.

"Yes, she is."

"Hey, I take offense to being called that! Besides, it's not like hacking is the only thing I do! I've done some work, LEGAL mind you, in computer programming and game development." Shruthi defended herself, and Mycroft responded matter-of-factly,

"You nearly got arrested for hacking into the CIA, and on top of that you hacked into MI6, as you've already implied." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Shruthi smiled sheepishly, moving to defend herself.

"Well, it's not like my intentions were bad, I was just really bored. Besides, it's not like I did anything bad. I just read around about some stuff. And maybe played around with a few things here and there. Nothing big or dangerous though, I promise. And as for the MI6 thing, I'm happy I did so. That's how I found out about your little 'operation'. Which, might I remind you, I had a hand in cleaning up?"

"Mycroft, what is she babbling about now?"

"Shruthi had some involvement in clearing the charges surrounding your name and cleaning up a few loose ends. And a few others things that are DEFINITELY none of your concern."

Sherlock said nothing.

Mycroft said nothing in response to Sherlock's nothing.

The silence dragged on painfully until Sherlock spoke again, his tone controlled.

"So…she worked on my 'case'?"

"Yes. In fact, she was responsible for removing Moriarty's online web of lies."

The silence returned. When it broken again, it was by Shruthi, who asked timidly,

"…So…M'ster Holmes…I can stay here then?" Sherlock scowled before groaning.

"Fine! But you," he pointed at Mycroft, "may leave now." Mycroft shrugged,

"Gladly," and moved to leave. He stopped by the door just as he was opening it. "Oh, and good luck, Sherlock. You might need it. Good day." And then he left, leaving Shruthi pouting and Sherlock pondering both his words and his current predicament.

Shruthi turned to face Sherlock just as the doors closed. She clapped her hands together excitedly.

"So, I guess we're going to be flatmates now. This is so exciting!" She ran to the room where she'd stored her luggage and quickly dressed, whilst Sherlock muttered under his breath, cursing his brother. Shruthi walked back into the living room soon after, smiled at Sherlock, and sat down in the chair. Sherlock took a deep breath and assumed a professional stance.

"Since we're now flatmates, you should know what many consider the 'worst' of me. I'm not a 'normal' person. I happen to be a high functioning sociopath. I solve crimes, and I enjoy murders. I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for hours on end. Would that bother you?" Shruthi blinked at his bluntness before smiling.

"Well, so long as you play classical music, I'll be fine, since I happen to love the violin. Not much Mozart though, not too fond of him. Beethoven is a definite 'yes'." It was Sherlock's turn to blink now. Shruthi continued.

"As for the talking on end, I'm a good listener, so that should be no problem for me. Besides, I'm pretty sure you'll have interesting things to say. Now, it's MY turn." She stopped and contemplated briefly before beginning. "First, to parallel your sociopathic tendencies I studied psychology in school, and I happen to possess a broad knowledge of as well as fascination with serial killers. You know, if you ever want to get together and plan a murder." She teased, and Sherlock's face took on a look of mild confusion. She continued on, amused. "As for noise, well, I happen to love Indian film music, so I'll be playing it in my room very often and dancing as well. Also, as you already know, I'm work with computers, so there'll be a lot of typing coming from my room. Just in case any of that bothers you while you're working or doing whatever else it is you do in here." She flailed her hands about a bit, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As for talking, well, I can talk a lot at times, but it's pretty normal, I guess. Although, I do have a habit of walking out of a room and continuing the conversation on my own, and even of continuing the conversation after the person has left the room. And when I'm alone in public, and even in private, I talk to myself, often without realizing it. Most of the time, though, I talk to Horatio."

":Horatio? Your boyfriend?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not having deduced anything of the sort, and Shruthi laughed.

"Oh dear God, no! Believe you me, no need to worry about me and boyfriends in this place. And before you say anything, I'm not a lesbian. I'm just not interested in dating overall. Spoiler, I'm a closet romantic, so I'm waiting for the ONE." Here she batted her eyes theatrically, before resuming a normal stance. "No, Horatio is my SKULL. In fact, wait here a sec, I'll go get him." She got up and ran to the room, and Sherlock stared after her in confusion. Her SKULL? Why did SHE get to have a skull too?!

Shruthi came rushing back into the room, and sure enough there was a human skull in her hands. She sat down and thrust it towards Sherlock.

"This here is Horatio. And yes, he's not a real skull. Also, the idea is actually based on Shakespeare's Hamlet not on your little 'friend' over there." She nodded her head in the direction of Sherlock's skull. "In fact, I didn't know about your skull until I read John's blog a few years ago, and I've had Horatio for over 10 years now. He's practically family." Sherlock looked shocked, and he didn't speak for a little while, just stared at the skull in Shruthi's hands. When he did speak, all he could say was, dazedly,

"The skull in Hamlet belonged to Yorick, not Horatio."

Shruthi laughed.

Later the next day, a knock sounded at the door of 221B Baker Street, and Shruthi rushed to open it. In walked a pregnant Mary Watson, who took one look at Shruthi and exclaimed.

"Hi! You must be Shruthi! Oh my, so beautiful. You don't know me, but my name's Mary Watson. My husband told me about you, and I just stopped by to say 'Welcome'! Is Sherlock here?"

"In here, Mary!" Sherlock's voice sounded from the kitchen. Shruthi explained.

"He hasn't had a case yet, and so he's doing experiments with fruit flies in the kitchen. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Watson, I've actually heard a lot about you. Here, please sit down." The two of them sat on the couch and Mary saw Sherlock fumbling around with stuff in the kitchen. She wasn't about to go there. Shruthi's voice called her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Would you like something to drink? I always have tea ready, since I happen to love it, and I promise he hasn't done anything to it. Yet, that is." Mary smiled and replied,

"Please, you can call me Mary. And yes, I would love some tea. But before I do, I'm curious. What exactly have you heard about me?" She spoke cautiously, and Shruthi smiled nervously. She'd encountered Doctor John Watson's wife when she'd hacked into the C.I.A. database that time. Let's just say it had been very informative.

"Well, everything, actually. But don't worry, I wouldn't dream of saying anything, I promise. I happen to think you're a very interesting person, and I look forward to getting to know you more." She added, hesitantly, "That is, if you're okay with that."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief and smiled reassuringly "Why, of course it is." And it was, really. Mary had seen already seen enough and heard enough of Shruthi already to analyse the girl and draw conclusion, and she'd concluded, partially from instinct, that Shruthi posed no threat to her life with John. Comforted by this fact, Mary moved to the purpose of her visit, which was to welcome Shruthi and see how the girl was holding up, what with having to live with Sherlock Holes and all. Lowering her voice, she asked, "How is he?" Shruthi, who knew who Mary was talking about instantly, replied,

"Just like how I remember, with just a few more quirks. He's more emotional I think, which I've no doubt is because of you and John. Oh, I should probably say Doctor Watson. He told me to call him John. Should I not?" Shruthi looked a little nervous once again, and Mary laughed.

"No, John is fine, don't worry about it. I must say, I'm impressed. You seem to be handling this better than I expected. When John walked in and told me Sherlock had a new flatmate, his WARD at that, my heart went out to you. I mean, don't get me wrong, we love Sherlock, but we understand that he can be…difficult at times." It was Shruthi's turn to laugh.

"That's an understatement. He's a challenge to know!"

"I heard that! Honestly Mary, if you're going to talk about me with her at least do it elsewhere, and don't distract me with your comments." Sherlock called out, and Shruthi called back,

"The point of talking here is so you hear the comments! Maybe they'll encourage you to behave yourself once in a while!" Then, she turned her attention back to Mary and said, "I know it won't. Besides, I actually like him exactly as he is now. He makes life interesting, to say the least. Don't tell him I said that, though." Mary smiled again.

"Don't worry, I won't, I promise."

"Thanks." Shruthi smiled gratefully. Suddenly, she jumped a bit, shocking Mary, and exclaimed, "Oh, I almost forgot. Congratulations on being pregnant!" Mary looked taken aback for a millisecond, as if she'd forgotten that she was pregnant, before she smiled and thanked the girl. Err, woman, that is. Shruthi responded.

"Sorry I didn't say it before. It's just that pregnant women freak me out a bit, I'm not sure why. I guess part of fears they're going to randomly go into labour while I'm present." At Mary's raised eyebrow and slightly amused expression, she added, "Yeah, I'm weird, I know. That's why I'm able to live here, I guess. Cause M'ster Holmes has to deal with as many quirks from me as I do from him."

"Once again, my name is Sherlock! I demand you call you by my name!" The man in question yelled from the kitchen, and Shruthi huffed and yelled back,

"No, I will not! To me, you're M'ster Holmes!" Mary had to suppress a laugh at how childish the two seemed. Shruthi turned her attention back to her.

"Sorry you have to see this, I can't help myself. I just love to mess with him. I used to do it when I was younger, before he went off to Uni. It was so much fun, and it still is. Okay, I'll go get you that tea now. Be right back Mary." She got up and headed towards the kitchen, and Mary watched with interest as Shruthi walked past the skulls (there were two now?) and greeted, "Hi Horatio!" to one of said skulls. Then she entered the kitchen, where she nudged the detective occupant out of the way when he exclaimed "I'm busy. Leave me to work in peace," retorting, "Umm, I'm pretty sure your experiment can wait whilst I get some tea for the pregnant lady. 'Cuse me."

Mary suppressed a chuckle as she watched Shruthi effectively manoeuvre her way through the cluttered kitchen, completely ignoring Sherlock's protests (more like whining) as she did so. The way she so easily brushed off the detective was amusing, and Mary grinned when she saw Sherlock's sulky reaction as he was ignored so blatantly and deliberately.

As Mary watched the two interact in the kitchen, with Shruthi making tea and Sherlock becoming more and more disgruntled as the girl ignored him, an idea began to form in her head. Shocked by it, she tried to dismiss it, but the more and more she watched the two the more and more it made sense. And when Shruthi, after finishing making the tea, reached up and ruffled the detective's hair whilst saying "Thank you M'ster Holmes" and flashed him a misleading innocent smile, Mary couldn't deny the idea any longer. It had just become way too attractive to ignore.

As Shruthi walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, towards Mary, tea in her hands, Mary made up her mind. She'd seen enough and had enough instinct to know that her conclusion, while hasty, made sense, based on what she knew of Sherlock and what she'd construed of Shruthi.

She, Mary Watson, was going to play matchmaker. And it was going to be for none other than Sherlock Holmes and his ward Shruthi.

It was going to be perfect.

* * *

Well, there you have it. The first chapter. And yes, I'm pretty sure some people are Ooc, but in Mary's case I'm pretty sure she's different while pregnant. Not to mention I just love the idea of her mothering Sherlock, since we saw some of it in Series Three of Sherlock...Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review (like I said, I think it's a rule to ask for reviews). And, as always, if you didn't like it, I'm sorry for the time you can never get back, please don't flame me, and thank you for not flaming me. Until next time!


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